


History Lessons

by This Girl Is (non_sequential)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_sequential/pseuds/This%20Girl%20Is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, how did he get himself into these things? <i>Oil-wresting</i> for fuck’s sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	History Lessons

Honestly, how did he get himself into these things? _Oil-wresting_ for fuck’s sake. He had been having a great time on holiday in Turkey with Ron and Hermione. He and Ron had good-naturedly rolled their eyes when she had suggested going to see the local Turkish wrestling competition. “It’s cultural, and very historic!” she had said, earnestly. “It’s been practiced this way for centuries. There’s been a huge tournament held at Edine since the 17th Century, when two brothers in service to the Sultan Ohran were so evenly matched that they spent all night fighting and eventually died of exhaustion.” There was no arguing with her when she was like this, so they exchanged a look and shrugged, agreeing to indulge her.

They had arrived to see a number of men in all shapes and sizes, stripped to the waist, wearing only short leather trousers, and covered in oil. Some of them had been young, and decidedly fit. A group of the boys, probably in their early twenties, were slapping each other on the back and hugging each other a lot. Yeah. _Cultural_. Sometimes he wondered about Hermione.

A couple of the local men had cheered when their little group arrived, and before he knew what was going on, he and Ron were also stripped to the waist and wearing the little leather trousers. In fairness Ron looked pretty good, all broad shoulders and Auror-trained abs, but Harry suspected he looked like a pasty-white runt next to Ron and the olive-skinned Turks.

His first fight had been against one of the older men who had welcomed them and bullied them into having a go. He was barrel-chested, and had a “well-fed” belly, all covered in coarse greying hair. There had been a lot of shouting by a man wearing a leather cap and a little jacket over his white shirt and black trousers, who seemed to be in charge, which had involved a lot of shouting and cheering fro the crowd. Then there had been some kind of ritual – almost a dance, where he had just sort of tried to follow the movements of the other man. Then the man in the cap had shouted something, and Harry had found himself upside down, with an arm around one hip, and the other reaching around to lock around his crotch, much to the apparent amusement of the crowd. Fortunately, a judicious wriggle had got him out of it without accidentally losing. Being on the small side turned out not to be such a terrible disadvantage, as he ducked and wriggled away from his opponent. Eventually he managed to catch the other man’s ankle and lean into him, and the Turk toppled like a felled tree, landing on his back, braced on both elbows. And that seemed to be that. The man just lay there, as the crowd roared in astonishment, and the black-capped man grabbed Harry’s wrist to raise his hand above his head.

He dazedly returned to where Hermione was watching a very shiny Ron stumble through the weird dance-ritual to begin his own fight. They were much more evenly-matched than Harry and his opponent had been. Both men were young and well built, gleaming in the afternoon sun as they circled each other, although Ron’s right hand was clenching and unclenching slightly in a subconscious desire for his wand. Ron’s opponent suddenly ducked and rammed his shoulder into Ron’s stomach, grabbing the waistband of his pants, and pushed. Ron gave a sort of twist as he fell, and seemed to catch the other man’s legs in a scissoring movement that resulted in them both on the ground in a heap of oiled limbs and naked skin. For a culture which firmly discouraged same-sex relationships, the Turks were certainly into their homo-eroticism. His own oily pants were starting to feel decidedly tight. He glanced awkwardly at Hermione, but she was leaning forward eagerly, eyes wide and fixed firmly on the action.

He jumped as a hand clamped down on his naked shoulder. “Come!” A small wizened-looking man said. “Is time for…” he frowned, obviously searching for the right word, “For foreplay!” He tugged on Harry’s shoulder. Harry stood and followed, trying desperately to smother a snigger from his inner twelve year old.

He was led to another informal ring, where the group of boys he had noticed earlier were standing in a rowdy group. They waved him over and the ancient man guiding him shoved him in their direction, so he wandered over to see what would happen. He was shocked when what happened was that the back of his pants was pulled back and someone started rubbing oil around his hips and down his arse.

“Oi!” He jumped back a little from the intrusive hands. One of the boys, lithely muscled, with lovely hazel eyes and very white teeth, grinned widely at him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“For grip,” he said. He jerked his head at another of the boys, who was oiling himself and smirking at Harry. “He hold.” He held up the pitcher of watery oil. “No grip.” And with that he poured more of the oil down Harry’s chest and began to smear it all over him. Shivering slightly as the dark hand brushed across one nipple, Harry took over the smearing duties on his own. Going into a wrestling match with a raging hard-on was probably not going to help him very much. The front of his pants was pulled away from his body and the pitcher tipped again. This time he got his own hand in there before his helpful new friend could. “Can he hold there, too?” The bigger man certainly hadn’t, but who knew?

“Not hold…” the lad rather graphically cupped his own groin with another flashing grin, “But here.” His hand moved to cup the sharp angle of his brown hip. So cock and balls were off limits and everything else was fair game. Bloody hell. He looked at the youth who was most likely to be his next opponent. He was a bloody Adonis. Broad shoulders and chest tapered down to a narrow waist and slim hips, all a dark olive brown except for a small strip of lighter skin just above the waistband of the oiled leather pants. The pants clung to his strong-looking thighs and halfway down his calves before revealing lightly haired shins and ankles and elegant brown feet.

His new friend started pouring and smearing the oil down his back. He could feel the sensual slide of oil between his arse cheeks, where the gorgeous man in front of him would potentially put his hands to try and wrestle Harry to the ground. Or Harry could put his own hands down the other man’s pants. Oh hell, he was going to end up getting them run out of town on a rail.

Suddenly he was being pushed out into the ring with the other man, while the man in the cap called out what seemed to be a prayer. He spent a while announcing Harry’s opponent, and then announced Harry to loud cheers from the group of lads. He grinned and waved at them, while their friend in the ring shook his fist at them good-naturedly. In the interests of not getting thrown out for perving on the boys Harry also bowed and winked to a nearby group of girls in colourful headscarves. They blushed and giggled and nudged each other in a way that reminded Harry vividly of his fourth year at Hogwarts.

And then it was on. This man was much quicker than Harry’s first opponent, and it was harder to wriggle away from him. That wasn’t the only thing that was harder. All that hot slippery flesh writhing against him was doing terrible things to his concentration as all his blood started heading to his groin. Suddenly the other man was behind him, pulling his arms back behind his back. Sometimes Harry wished he didn’t have a… well, a _thing_ for being restrained, but oh God he did, and this was hitting it hard. He wanted nothing more than to lean back into the strong chest behind him and do whatever the other man wanted him to. But this wasn’t his bedroom. He was in a field in a foreign country, on display for hundreds of strangers. Oh damnit. He _really_ wished that wasn’t a thing too. Still, this wouldn’t do. As his adversary attempted to force him to the ground he threw himself back, throwing the other man off balance. He could hear the crowd cheering, and his competitive streak threw itself to his rescue, as he grabbed the man’s leg and tried to lever him onto his back, gripping the slippery cloth in one hand.

A foot to his chest put an end to that. He fell back, but rolled to a crouch then launched himself at his opponent. He’d never been one for playing a defensive game. They wrangled for a while, hands grasping and slipping against anything that came to hand, flesh sliding voluptuously against flesh, his leg pressing seductively between the other man’s before slipping away, a face gliding slickly across his chest, hot breath teasing his nipple in bursts.

He stopped breathing for a moment as a strong hand slipped around his left arm and into the front of his pants, holding his hip firmly, and then it was over. He was on his knees, left arm pinned behind him, right arm barely helping him keep his balance, a hand buried in his pants, and another wrapped firmly around his waist preventing him from moving, completely immobile and trying desperately not to come in his borrowed leather pants.

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or resentful that the cock pressed firmly against his oiled arse was clearly disinterested, because his own was so hard he wasn’t sure he’d even be able to stand let alone walk out of the ring with any semblance of dignity.

He dropped to his elbow in defeat, and felt his adversary slip his hand from his pants and leap to his feet, heard him yelling. The crowd was going nuts. He took a few deep breaths and tried to think about the mortifying breathy squeaks he sometimes heard from Hermione when she and Ron were shagging and forgot to put up silencing charms. He moved to his hands and knees, and was relieved to find that his erection had subsided slightly. When he looked up, his conqueror was extending a hand to help him up. He took the offered hand. There was dirt clinging to the man’s oiled chest, and Harry didn’t imagine he was in any better state. He really wished he had a hope of fucking anything but his own hand tonight. He had his erection more or less under control, but he was desperately horny and he hadn’t even brought his vibrator for fear of having to explain it to Turkish Security Officers.

He was caught up in a rough embrace by his opponent, his shoulder pounded with a fist, and suddenly the crowd seemed to be cheering for him too. He gave a weak smile, and then herded out of the ring by the black-capped man. He was still feeling a little hazy as he wandered in what he hoped was the direction of the ring he had left Ron and Hermione at. He was relieved to see a pale face surrounded by masses of brown curls moving towards him.

As Hermione came up to him with his clothes and a towel to wipe off some the excess oil and dirt, he noticed a shock of bright blond hair in the crowd. Dark glasses hid the eyes, but couldn’t disguise the fact that the wearer was looking straight at him, mouth wide open. Well, that solved the mysterious disappearance of Draco Malfoy. Feeling a bit mischievous, he winked at the man, and then turned to take the towel from a grinning Hermione. “I think we should try a Hammam tomorrow,” she said. “It’s a very historical experience, you know!”


End file.
